


words across his throat

by blathering_kat



Series: words across his throat [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blathering_kat/pseuds/blathering_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His throat, his head, his knees, the little points of pain on his arms and collar bones, they ache in the best way, like the aftermath of a good football game, like too-hot tea on an early morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	words across his throat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fiarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiarra/gifts).



> Inspired by this horrible, horrible [gif](http://25.media.tumblr.com/a0907598e257776acec0f8bb6c4ec0ed/tumblr_mpksn0Lvzc1rg99m1o2_250.gif).

It's almost comforting, and it really shouldn't be. Having that weight sitting on his collarbones, over the soft flesh of his throat, a constant pressure that he knows he's not strong enough to throw off. (Not that he'd want to.) Louis doesn't think Liam knows what he's doing when he holds him like this, like he's comfortable just holding on and not letting go. But it's all Louis can do, when it happens, not to just...stop. Stop everything and let himself fall, on stage, in front of tens of thousands of screaming girls and mothers and resigned fathers and boyfriends, into that deep calm that only Liam (and sometimes Zayn) seem to be able to bring out in him.

It always ends too fast, though. Liam pulls back, or Louis forces himself to duck under, escaping and yanking himself back into reality. He usually contents himself (for a moment), by poking at Zayn or bouncing around with Niall, but he always feels the phantom heat and pressure of Liam's arm around his neck until he gets off stage and into the nearest shower. When they get back on the bus, or, more rarely, into a hotel room, decompressing in a pile of mostly fresh-smelling exhausted boys, he snuggles up to Liam as subtly as he can, and falls asleep grasping at the memory of Liam's skin on his throat.

It's just — he doesn't know how to ask for what he wants, or even how to tell himself what he wants. He's never needed anything like this, never felt so much like an addict gasping and silently begging for his next hit, that next moment of utter peace and comfort. Whenever he catches sight of the words inked into Liam's forearm, he imagines them imprinted into his own skin, marking him and sealing the two of them together in a way he can't begin to imagine might happen in real life.

It doesn't take long for Liam to notice, of course, too soon, and not nearly long enough for Louis to figure out how to explain why, when he sees Liam's arms or his hands, or the two of them brush together on the bus or in humid parking lots, he lets himself drift away. Liam corners him that night after the show, somewhere in the middle of America, in a dark section of yet another long venue hallway. He's completely blocked into a tight niche in the wall, his shoulders just touching the wall on each side. Liam's leaning over him, using those extra inches in height and width to block Louis from seeing anything but a halo of light coming in from the hallway, throwing Liam's face into shadow.

Louis thinks he should be tense, should be more nervous than he is (a tiny tendril of fear, thrilling, hiding in the back of his mind), but it's like all of the tension melts out of his spine as Liam leans even closer, his head bent down to just touch the tips of Louis' hair. Louis hears himself sigh, leans into the wall behind him even more, letting himself fall against it. Liam's face does something fascinatingly strange, showing a mix of worry, fear, and, perhaps, a kind of eager curiosity. He reaches into Louis' niche, sliding his fingers (big hands, warm and slightly sweaty) between the side of the wall and Louis' upper arm. He hesitates for a moment, then grips, hard. Louis thinks he can feel—should be able to feel—the bruises forming on the bare skin under his t-shirt. Despite the heat in the hall, goose pimples break out along his exposed skin and he can't stop himself from shivering in utter delight.

His eyelids are heavy, the effort to hold them up taxing. Liam breathes in, a sharp, quick gasping breath, as his other hand traces the tattoos on Louis' right arm.

“Lou,” he hears Liam breathe his name, hot air ruffling the tips of his hair. Louis lets his head fall forward into Liam's slightly damp chest, giving in to gravity and letting Liam and the wall hold him up, both equally solid and secure. Liam lets go of his left arm and Louis can't stop himself from whimpering softly. Liam's hand finds his chin, then drops down to his neck, and Louis's knees can't hold him up any longer. Liam catches him by the arm and the neck, fingers digging into both sections of Louis' skin for an instant before he lets go and holds Louis up more securely. Liam's head drops down to Louis' ear, close enough for him to almost silently whisper, “Shower.”

Louis nods and uses the wall behind him to pull himself up and off of Liam's chest. The warmth clings to his sweaty skin, reassuring and saddening all at once, and he can't stop himself from reaching for Liam's hand. Liam beats him to it, wrapping hot fingers around Louis' entire hand and nearly dragging him down the hall toward the exit.

Louis doesn't really remember how he got from the venue hallway to the bus. He vaguely recalls reassuring Zayn and Harry, and the rumble of the bus as it pulled out of the venue, but. The next time he's fully aware, he finds himself leaning against Liam in a hotel bathroom, steam filling the room. Liam's looking down at him with a frown marring his features.

“Lou, I don't. You need to talk to me, tell me this is okay. Because. I only know what I've guessed, what I've seen you do on stage. I...I just don't want to hurt you,” Liam's voice is shaky but brave, and really, that's Liam in a nutshell. Louis giggles a little, sounding kind of drunk even to himself.

“Maybe. Maybe that's what I want you to do,” Louis mumbles.

“Okay,” Liam whispers. “Okay. Then get undressed.”

After that, it's like Liam can read him, read his body like an instruction book. He pulls an unresisting Louis into the hot steam of the shower, pushing his head gently under the stream and washing the sweat and product out. He tugs on Louis' hair gently, then more firmly when Louis can't stop the low moan from leaving his throat. Louis' fingers trace Liam's arm, finding the solid black arrows and stopping on the one he's decided symbolizes him. He digs blunt nails in slightly, and Liam responds by yanking back on Louis' hair and forcing him to his knees on the hard floor. Liam's hard and thick in front of Louis' face, and he can't stop himself from licking up the long length, pulling his own hair with Liam's hand. Liam reaches down with his other hand, gripping Louis' chin firmly.

“Not yet,” he says, voice husky and dark, commanding.

Louis relaxes and sits back on his heels until Liam pulls him up by the bruises he'd left on his arms earlier that night. The pain makes it harder for Louis to stand; everything in him wants to stay right where he is, on his knees in front of Liam. He's dragged firmly out of the shower and into a warm bathrobe, Liam's big hands scrubbing his scalp with a clean towel.

He loses himself for a second in Liam's hands, in imagining other places they could touch and other sensations they could draw out of Louis' skin. Liam directs him to the bed, letting him fall onto the soft quilt when his knees hit the edge. Liam climbs on top of him, breath warming Louis’s neck until the hot air is replaced by firm skin. Liam's arm, across Louis's throat, pushing gently but firmly against sensitive skin. Louis lets his eyes fall closed, his mind full of Liam's tanned skin against the dark ink of the tattoo on Louis' chest. He imagines his words blending with Liam's, creating a new language of skin on skin, marking them both and sealing them together forever.

It gets harder to breathe, but Louis finds comfort in that, finds comfort in giving up control of that basic part of himself, handing his breath to Liam like a gift, like a fulfillment of a promise made on stage in front of thousands. From somewhere far away, deep inside his head, Louis feels the slight pressure of the fingers of Liam's other hand, pressing against the base of his neck, making new marks, new bruises, just above the thick text along his collar bones. He forces his eyes open again, wanting to see Liam's face, to know what he looks like at this moment.

Liam's pupils are blown open, his eyes locked on his arm across Louis' throat. He's breathing hard, beads of sweat forming along his hairline. Louis feels like he's looking from a distance, through a long tunnel surrounded by flashes of light.

Liam's hand leaves Louis' neck and slides down his body, shoving the bathrobe out of the way. He grabs Louis' cock and his own, squeezing them together in one large hand. He keeps his other arm tight against Louis' throat as he pulls and twists them together, the friction painful and amazing at the same time. Louis tries to take a deep breath as he comes, but the air doesn't come. As blackness closes in on Liam's face in his eyes, he smiles. Finally.

  
  


Louis wakes up feeling fuzzy and kind of sore, but more relaxed than he's been in maybe ever. Liam's slapping his face, frantically calling his name, arousal covered by panic. Louis reaches up and blocks his hand, grabbing Liam's wrist and tracing lines into the skin as he feels himself come back. It hurts. His throat, his head, his knees, the little points of pain on his arms and collar bones, they ache in the best way, like the aftermath of a good football game, like too-hot tea on an early morning. Liam still looks panicked, but he's calming down, looking like he's trying to decide between relief and anger. Louis pulls him down, small hands on the back of Liam's neck, drawing him into a kiss, feeling the tension release. Liam collapses on top of him, larger body pushing him deeper into the soft mattress.

“I'm sorry, I thought—” Liam's voice sounds wrecked, like he was the one choked into unconsciousness.

“S'okay, m'okay,” he rasps. There's a practical part of Louis's mind that says this won't do his performance any favors, but the remaining laxness in his limbs and brain chase those thoughts away as he enjoys what’s possibly one of the best moments in his life.

He curls into Liam, knocking them into a more comfortable side-by-side position on the huge bed. He tucks his head into Liam's chest, wrapping his arms around his chest and holding tight. He doesn't want Liam to run, or to think that he didn't want this, that he didn't need this. And he wants to do it again.

Liam runs blunt nails along Louis' scalp with just enough pressure to hurt a little.

“Next hotel night is in a week,” he says, eyes burning into Louis' head. He smiles against Liam's skin and pulls him even closer.

“Promise?”

Liam's hand tightens around the back of Louis' neck. “Promise.”


End file.
